Love by the Slice (Valentine’s Sweethearts)

Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

SHE SHOULD HAVE gone to Greg on Monday.

“Relax” and “It’ll be fine” only got you so far when the weather forecast changed from an inch of snow to six inches, plus freezing rain.

Shelly paced the room she rented in a house that, to its credit, held heat like a thermos. Whoever had built it in the eighteen hundreds had a healthy respect for the outdoors, so the building stood like a fortress against snow, sleet, freezing rain, hail, and ice. Sometimes, all at once.

Today, in fact.

Attempting to channel Greg’s boundless supply of hopefulness, Shelly put on her jacket, gloves, hat, and boots, then went into the driveway to excavate her car.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket while she was attempting to unlock the frozen-shut driver’s side door so she could access the snow brush and ice scraper. She pulled it free of her pocket and read the message while snowflakes landed on the screen.

Ezra: “Don’t even think of driving here.”

Shelly’s car seemed to be in cahoots with Ezra. The phone kept picking up snow, and she shoved it back in her pocket.

The car door wasn’t going to open, so Shelly returned to the house door. That, fortunately, did.

In the dooryard, she stamped the snow off her boots and fought her inclination to keep her coat and hat and gloves on. Once the snow melted, she’d just be wet. She did, however, keep wearing her scarf. In the kitchen, with her fingertips still numb, she dried off the phone and texted her brother, “I’m staying put.”

Ezra replied, “Lacey’s closing down. You know how it goes: ‘I don’t feel like cooking in this storm, so I’ll make someone else drive food to me.’”

Shelly replied, “You’ll lose money.”

Ezra sent, “I can live with that. Literally.”

Next, Shelly flipped on the kettle and texted Greg, “Remember how you said it would all work out?”

He replied, “Yeah, it’s not looking so good.”

“I’m not driving in this.”

She wanted to text so much more. She wanted to say, We could have done this yesterday. Or, Why didn’t you believe me that the weather could turn on a dime? We’ve both lived in Maine all our lives, so why the ignorance? You’re not stupid, so why would you act that way? It’s not like we can make the cookies tomorrow when you have work and I have classes.

There was optimism and confidence, and there was also six inches of wintery mix because of not looking at reality.

The whole attraction of your optimism is it buoys me up, but come on. Shelly folded her arms and stared into the grey-white dullness outside the window. Maybe you needed a little realism for once.

Greg texted, “Do you want to get started on the cookies?”

She stared at her phone. “Did you miss where I said I’m not driving? You’re not driving, either.”

He replied, “Do you have an oven? Do you have a phone with a camera?”

She was starting to reply when her phone rang with an incoming video call. She answered, and Greg’s smiling face made her smile, too.

He looked brilliant, and it buoyed her. “We’re going to bake together despite Maine not wanting us to. Do you have chocolate chips?”

“Not even close.”

“Not a problem. Do you have flour?”

Shelly herself didn’t have flour, but one of her housemates did. The general rule was you could share with each other as long as you admitted it, replaced it, and didn’t take anything obviously earmarked for something else. “Yes.”

Greg said, “That makes it easier. Sugar? Eggs?”

He ran down a list of ingredients, and Shelly wandered the kitchen finding them all. Butter? Yes. Baking soda and baking powder? Um, both? Yes. Vanilla extract? That was harder to find, but yes. Meanwhile, Greg was just…excited. “If you don’t have eggs, you can substitute with the liquid from a can of chickpeas.”

“In what world would I not have an egg, but would have a can of chickpeas?” Shelly asked. “As it turns out, yes, there’s an egg.”

“And an oven…?” he teased. “Otherwise you’re going to have to figure out how to balance a baking sheet on your car’s engine block.”

“I’m sure that wouldn’t add interesting smells to the cookies. Here,” Shelly added, pitching her voice higher as if she were upselling a customer, “enjoy this motor oil chip cookie!”

The camera swiveled around as Greg propped his phone, and then Shelly had a view of him moving around a much larger kitchen, the appliances stainless steel rather than the 1990s vintage cream-colored ones in hers. Just the way she’d switched to a sales clerk voice, Greg changed his to a sports announcer’s. “Bakers, you may preheat your ovens!”

Shelly giggled. “Vroom!”

“375,” he said, “and we’ll get everything ready while they warm up.”

He showed her the equipment he’d gathered, and she hunted the cabinets to find similar. She didn’t know what any of these were called. Mom had never taught her a thing, so once she’d gotten out on her own, it had been a matter of subsisting on PBJs until she could obtain a frying pan, a pot, a spatula, and a strainer. Even at that, the first places she’d crashed had limited kitchen access, and minuscule storage in the fridge.

Cooking for yourself was so much cheaper than buying takeout or even buying prefab microwavable food. Still, Shelly didn’t always know what to do with things. It had been a massive shock when Ezra got a job at a pizza kitchen because he knew as much about cooking as she did, but with his job on the line, Ezra had taught himself. Things like how to toss dough, Ezra had looked up online.

Shelly had no idea who’d taught Greg. “You’ll need two mixing bowls,” he said.

Into the smaller bowl went the flour, baking powder, and baking soda. Into the larger went the egg, butter, and sugar. “You’re going to cream all that together,” he said, and then explained what he meant by that (“creaming” didn’t involve cream) and finally apologized because her butter was cold and it’s easier to “cream” it when it’s room temperature.

Shelly said, “At least room temperature here isn’t fifty-two degrees.” When Greg made a “brr” noise, she added, “Did you know a refrigerator stops working when the house gets below fifty-eight?”

On the camera, Greg would explain something, then show it, and she’d follow. It was almost like being in the same kitchen: his phone stood on a counter, hers leaned in the dish drainer, and both of them used speakerphone. He talked her through adding the flour to the creamed butter and egg mixture, and then when it was all mixed up right, he had her start rolling little balls of dough. “About walnut sized.”

“Are you talking about the walnuts in the grocery store,” she said, “or the big fruity walnut things that dent your car and then leave stains all over the hood?”

He paused. “Um…the ones at the grocery store. Still in the shell.” He paused. “Maybe roll a few around in your hand and see what size you come up with?”

She held one up to the camera, and he said, “Smaller,” and then they both spent time setting little dough balls onto their respective baking sheets.

Shelly said, “This isn’t anywhere near as difficult as I thought it would be.”

Greg said, “It’s a nice thing to do when it’s stormy, and then afterward, you get to enjoy cookies.”

She said, “Assuming the power doesn’t go out.”

“I guess we used to bake before the storms came,” Greg admitted, sounding surprised. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

Shelly snickered. “Right. ‘It’ll all work out,’ except your mom was the one who worked it out in advance, and then as far as you were concerned, there was never a problem.”

Greg paused mid-roll. “That’s not entirely fair.”

“You admitted you didn’t pay attention to the timing of this blizzard activity that the blizzard itself could stop.” She giggled. “I was listening.”

With the pan full and the oven preheated, Greg had her put the cookies on the middle rack, and he set a timer on his side.

Shelly glanced back out the window. “It’s really coming down. Do you think Rowan’s okay?”

Greg said, “Probably fine.”

Yes, everyone was always probably fine. “What if they don’t have heat?”

“I assume someone would have noticed if they didn’t have heat.” Greg sounded unflappable. “Also, there’s a warming station in town.”

Assuming they drove to it. A man who didn’t want to sign up for food assistance for his grandson wasn’t going to call 911 because the apartment was freezing and the car wouldn’t start.

The wind slammed into the windows, and Shelly braced herself instinctually for a cold draft that never came, for the rocking that didn’t move the foundation. Sometimes in her dreams, she was huddled in a twin-sized bed with her youngest two sisters, hearing the wind hiss around the ill-fitting windows of their prefab home and making sure the blankets stayed around their necks to secure their warmth.

Greg asked about her classes, so Shelly listed the massive amount of homework the first week had delivered. Although her first response was panic, Greg reassured her. “Not only can you get it done, but now, thanks to the storm, you’ve got extra time when you aren’t driving.”

“Most of my classmates study full time. I wish I could do that.” She shook her head. “You went to college full time, right?”

He nodded. “Mostly business classes. I liked marketing and human resources.”

She hesitated. “Then why are you working part time at a pizzeria? Why not go get a human resources job?”

He shrugged. “My father always hated the paperwork side of his business, so I’d begun doing that for him when I was still in school. Afterward, he still wanted me, so I kept doing it part time. Ezra ended up at the shop getting some part custom machined for the brick oven, so when he asked if I could put in ten hours a week there and give him a day off, I figured, why not?”

Shelly said, “What are you going to do when you leave both of them?”

Greg shrugged. “Write business plans for humorless executives? Get a suit-and-tie job at a bank writing loans to startups? I have no idea. I’m okay killing time here for now.”

Shelly grimaced. “Surely you aren’t going to do two part time gigs forever. At some point, you’ll need health insurance and want to move out on your own.”

When Greg didn’t answer, Shelly wondered if maybe he really did intend to do it forever. Live with his parents, play with his gaming console, and bake cookies in his spare time.

She glanced at the cookies still in the oven. “Well… I’m only doing deliveries until I graduate and can do forty hours a week making rich people uncomfortable.”

He laughed. “You’re a genius at time management. You could do both.”

To punctuate Shelly’s genius at time management, the timer went off. She pulled the cookies from the oven, and they looked perfect. Greg said, “Do you have a cooling rack?” so Shelly poked around the kitchen. When she couldn’t find one, she extracted the rack from the toaster oven and crowded as many as she could onto the wires, and the rest of them onto a plate. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work.

After she got the rest of the dough balled up and onto the pan, Greg insisted she pour a glass of milk and share a cookie with him. “I’m sure yours are better,” Shelly said.

Mid-pour on his own side, Greg said, “I’m sure they’re the same. You did great.”

Before the next batch emerged from the oven, one of Shelly’s roommates came into the kitchen to be surprised by cookies. Shelly invited her to share, and she introduced her to Greg. Her roommate then hung around the kitchen preparing lunch while Shelly got the second batch from the oven, then moved the cooled cookies into a plastic container.

Shelly said, “Well, at least you can bring yours to Rowan’s fundraiser tomorrow. It’s not as many as we would have made together, but it’s something.”

Greg said, “Rowan’s going to be fine. I told you. This is just extra help.”

Shelly murmured, “Sometimes, even that extra makes a difference. I wish you’d let me do this yesterday.”

“But then your roommate wouldn’t have cookies.” Greg sounded too pleased for someone who’s failure to plan had nearly destroyed the operation. “Plus, now you know how to make cookies whenever you want.”

A few minutes later, they were off the call, and Shelly transferred the second batch of cookies into the plastic container.

Her roommate said, “Does he always blow you off that way?”

Shelly hesitated. “How?”

The roommate shrugged. “It’s just, every time you raised an objection to something, he told you it wasn’t really a problem.”

Shelly shrugged. “He’s an optimist. Most of the time, he’s right.”

The roommate went back to her lunch, and Shelly carried her cookies and the remaining milk back to her room.

Her roommate was wrong. Greg was listening.

Except…

No, he was listening. He saw the bright side. He had a good perspective, and he was trying to cheer her up. That was all. It was fine.

It would be fine. It would all work itself out. That’s what Greg would have told her if she’d brought this to him, and that’s what she was choosing to believe.